


A Way Out Of The Dark

by metaphasia



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Episode: s04e08 Legends of Yesterday, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphasia/pseuds/metaphasia
Summary: This was an impossible dilemma for Oliver. He couldn't lie to Felicity about his son, but he had to. If only there was a third choice, a way out.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70





	A Way Out Of The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the final scene of Arrow, season 4, episode 8, Legends of Yesterday, which starts at approximately the 42:10 mark. It may be helpful for comprehension to watch that scene until it reaches the dialogue in bold at the start of the story.

“ **Unless,” Felicity said. “You're ready to tell me what you said you'd tell me.”**

**Oliver settled onto the couch before looking up at her. He let out a deep sigh. “Felicity … umm ...”**

“ **Oliver,” she interjected, dropping down to pick up one of the throw pillows that had gotten, well, thrown, during the fight with Savage in their apartment.**

“Wait,” Oliver said, with urgency in his voice. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his hands in front of his face as he thought. He loved Felicity. He had loved a lot of people in his life, in a lot of different ways. Before the island, he had been a shallow person, and had thought he loved people, had thought he loved Laurel, but he hadn't, not really. His parents, Thea, Tommy, those were maybe the only people he had truly loved back then, and none of them in a romantic sense. But his time away, while it had hardened his heart to any emotion, convinced him that not feeling was safer and the only option for him, it had also stripped away all his pretenses. He hadn't been able to lie to himself, not if he was going to survive, and he had learned to truly feel, to allow himself to feel things the way he hadn't back when he was running around sleeping with everyone, even if he eventually had to bury those emotions.

He knew he was in love with Felicity, and that it was the forever kind. He knew it in his bones, the same way the tug of gravity always let him know which way was down, that Felicity was his always.

Lying to her felt like lying to himself, which he hadn't done in years. The old phrase about your partner being your “better half” hadn't made sense to him until they got together, and then it all too suddenly made perfect sense. She was his better half, but more than that, she was his _other_ half, as much a part of him as his arms. Lying to her was just unfathomable. When Amanda Waller had first used that word with him all those years ago, he had thought he knew what it meant, but he had been so wrong.

But at the same time, William was his son. Of all the regrets in his life, his relationship with his father was one of the greatest. He had never been the son his father wanted, and while he had come to terms with that in recent years, that that man wasn't someone he _wanted_ to be, he also hadn't been the son his father deserved. His rejection of being the perfect son, ready to inherit the family business hadn't had to also translate into his wild, partying, cheating ways. He had righted his father's wrong when he came back to Starling three years ago, but he hadn't had the chance to really right the relationship he had had with his father. And while he couldn't go back and become a son his father deserved, now he had the chance to become the father _his_ son deserved.

But not if he told anyone. Samantha had been so specific, not even allowing him to tell Felicity, and he was terrified, more than maybe anything else in his life, that she would take William away from him. When he hadn't known William existed, not being in his life was something he could let his past self get away with without guilt, but now that he knew, he couldn't let his present self not be a part of his life. No matter what it took to do so.

“Oliver, you're scaring me,” Felicity said. She threw the pillow onto the far corner of the couch and knelt down in front of him. She wrapped her hands around his own, squeezing lightly to let him know he wasn't alone. “You can trust me, you know that, right? No matter what it is, I'm right here for you. I won't be going anywhere, but I can't help you unless you let me in, unless you tell me.”

“I – I know, Felicity,” Oliver whispered from behind their clasped hands, his voice breaking as he spoke.

Then there was what Barry had told him, that he and Felicity had had a huge fight over this, that when she found out they had broken up, and he just couldn't lose her, not now, not ever. This was an impossible dilemma for him. He couldn't lie to her, but he had to. If only there was a third choice, a way out.

Wait. He didn't have to lie to her. He just couldn't tell her the truth.

_Barry_ .

“Felicity,” he started again, slipping his hands out from between hers, and moving around them to wrap her hands in his. “Sit down, please.” He pulled his right hand away to tap the couch next to him. Felicity shuffled over there, leaning up against him, and he didn't let go of her other hand the entire time.

“You remember when you told Barry about my secret identity,” he asked her.

“Oliver,” she said her voice soft and apologetic. “I know you were mad about that, but -”

“No,” he cut her off. She didn't have to be apologetic about that, he did. “You're not the one who has to be sorry for that night, I am. I never apologized to you, did I, for biting your head off that night? You – I trust you, completely. If you ever have to tell someone who I really am, I trust you to make that call. I trust you, period. But that wasn't quite what I meant.”

Her eyes were shining with tears about to fall at his words, not quite crying yet, but certainly on the verge of it. “What did you mean, then?”

“I trust you, I do, with everything. But this isn't about trust,” he explained. “The reason I told you I was mad back then, I told you it wasn't your secret to tell.”

She tilted her head at him quizzically, her mind clearly racing ahead as she tried to figure out what he was saying.

“This – this thing,” he said. “I want to tell you what it is, what's going on, I do. But I can't. It isn't my secret to tell.”

She sat there for a minute, considering his words. “Does it affect us? Our relationship? Is,” and her voice broke slightly. “Is there someone else?”

“No,” he said, his voice firm. “This isn't about us, not at all. And no, there is no one else. There will _never_ be anyone else.”

“Is it some kind of threat? Some new danger out there, waiting for us?” she asked him again.

“No, there isn't some new threat out there. Just,” and he huffed out a small laugh. “Just the usual threats, the ones you already know about.” Sometimes it hit him, just how not normal their lives were.

“Will you,” she started before stopping and reconsidering her words. “Whoever's secret it _is_ , will you push them to let you tell me? To let me in?”

“Yes,” he promised, the word barely audible as he breathed it out.

“Okay then,” she said, her tone suddenly shifting, becoming light.

“Okay?” he asked her, not sure what she meant.

“Yes,” she said, and twisted her hand around where it was still wrapped in his, interleaving their fingers. “I trust you too, Oliver. Whatever this is, I don't need to know. If it's not going to affect us, if it's not something we need to watch out for. I don't need to know, not yet. Not until you can tell me.”

“Okay,” he repeated the word once again, this time his voice filled not with a question, but with wonder.

Felicity then shifted from where she was sitting next to him, sending her leg sliding across his lap, straddling him, never letting go of his hand as she did so. She leaned her face in against his, giving a peck on the lips before pulling back slightly, just enough that he could feel the air from her words dance across his skin.

“Now, what do you say,” she asked, a smile curving onto her face, one he recognized and knew well. “That we leave this cleaning up for tomorrow, and go up to bed?”

“Okay,” he said one last time, his own smile breaking out. She was so perfect. He loved her, completely.

And in that moment, he realized that he knew exactly what he had to do.

“Wait, no,” he told her. He stood up, spinning them around, so that she was sitting on the couch where had been sitting a moment ago, holding himself above her with a grip on the arm rest. Her breath hitched at the sudden change in position, before his words registered with her, and she started to stare at him.

“There's one thing we need to pick up before we go,” he explained, and couldn't help the grin on his face. He let go of her hand, diving to his knees in front of her, bending over to look among the debris scattered across the ground, the broken shards of glass and beads from the centerpiece on their table everywhere.

“What is so important that it can't wait?” she asked, her voice impatient, edging up into frustrated anger. Finally, he spied what he was looking for under the couch, directly under her.

“This,” he answered, reaching between her legs, pulling it back out. He shifted ever so slightly, turning around to show it to her, and bringing one foot up so he was only on one knee.

She spied the ring in his hand, taking in his position all at once, and gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

“Felicity Smoak,” he started. “Will you make me the happiest man,” but he couldn't finish his sentence, she was already nodding her head.

“Yes,” she said, chanting the word like a mantra, over and over again, the tears that before were unshed now pouring down her face. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

He took her left hand, slipping the ring onto her finger, before intertwining their hands once again, this time feeling the cold metal as well as her warm flesh, before leaning up and forward to kiss her. He reached his free hand around her, curving around her ass, gripping her tightly before surging up, taking her with him. She let out a squeal of delight, her legs wrapping around him.

“I love you,” he told her, carrying her across to the stairs and up to their room, her laughter at his display of physical strength echoing behind them.


End file.
